


A Sure Bet

by saintroux



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Public Sex, Sex Bets, Sidney Crosby Sucks At Cards, Tender Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-03 21:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17291345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintroux/pseuds/saintroux
Summary: “I’m decide what I want,” he said, setting the marred remains of the apple down on the counter, “for bet.”“Oh, yeah?” Sid asked, angling in a little, just enough that his hip brushed Geno’s arm. He’d beenwaitingand he was endlessly curious.  What kind of thing took a whole week to come up with?





	A Sure Bet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flamingo_sex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingo_sex/gifts).



> happy new year, my friends! <3
> 
> thanks to the usual suspects for the hot content that spawned this, and also for my new obsession with sex bets. this story grew a lot of feelings and i'm not sorry!

It all started when Sid lost a bet—and a pretty stupid one, really. He and Geno had been not-entirely-seriously trading bets back and forth since preseason, but what started as fairly run-of-the-mill ‘I’ll suck you off if you get four points’ had now devolved into fairly drawn out and not well defined nonsense that seemed to get Geno riled up but never failed to make Sid terribly impatient. 

Sid still wasn’t really sure what Geno was claiming in exchange for his latest win. He hadn’t been late to a meeting or practice or treatment all week after Sid had bet him for sure that he couldn’t hack it. Before their video meeting one morning, Sid had watched the clock tick closer and closer to nine and been so sure that he was about to be victorious and then Geno had thwarted him by sliding right into his empty seat just as the second hand hit the twelve. 

That mother _fucker_.

They were flying out to the west coast today for their annual road trip and it had been nearly a week since the bet had ended and Geno hadn’t let slip a single detail about when or what he was planning to cash in. Sid hoped it wasn’t anything that involved the beach, at the very least. The last thing he needed was sand in, on, or around his junk. 

“Got some extra M&Ms this time, eh—“ Rusty said, walking past Sid with his gear and his hair still damp from practice. “Peanut kind—hit me up on the plane if you want some.” 

“Sure thing,” Sid said, stuffing his sneakers and his tape bag into his duffel and checking his phone to see how much leeway time he had between here and the airport. Not much. 

When he rounded the corner from the locker room to the lounge, Geno was there, lingering long after he’d showered, crunching noisily on one of the overly-waxed apples catering liked to leave in a bowl by the fridge, his coat draped over his arm.

“Those things taste like plastic, you know,” Sid said, rifling through the cabinet for the extra jelly and throwing it into his bag. “Also, why are you still here? Pretty much everyone already left for the flight.” 

Geno shrugged and smiled awkwardly around his mouthful of fruit. “Wait for you,” he said. “Not late to plane if I drive fast.”

“If you get pulled over you sure will be,” Sid said, and put a hand on the long line of Geno’s hip where his sweater was wrinkled up. 

Geno rolled his eyes like he was so sure he wouldn’t get pulled over at all. “I’m decide what I want,” he said, setting the marred remains of the apple down on the counter, “for bet.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Sid asked, angling in a little, just enough that his hip brushed Geno’s arm. He’d been _waiting_ and he was endlessly curious. What kind of thing took a whole week to come up with? 

“I want you sit with me on plane, whole trip,” Geno said. “You play cards, nap on my shoulder, it’s good.” 

He wanted—what? That was it? Sid felt pretty confused and more than a little disappointed. He’d been hoping for something elaborate—maybe Geno wanted to tie Sid up a little, or try to make him come twice in one day, which was no easy feat now on this side of thirty. 

“You’re joking, right?” Sid asked. He switched his bag from one shoulder to the next. The clock across the room was getting too close to when he absolutely had to leave for his comfort. “You know I’m garbage at cards, G, c’mon.” 

“Maybe I want to beat,” Geno said, and smirked and took another showy bite of his browning apple. “Nice to win against best player.” 

“You’re going to regret this,” Sid said. He looked up at Geno’s face: there was a shiny smear of apple next to his mouth and he reached up to swipe it away with the pad of his thumb. “I definitely snore, so jokes on you.”

“I don’t regret,” Geno said, and that stupid smirk hadn’t dropped even a single inch from his face. Sid was trying very hard to keep his expression neutral and not smile back like he wanted. That grin was lethal. Sid felt resigned to his fate. Maybe he would just be such a garbage seat partner that Geno would give up after they got to Anaheim and call it a wash and just make Sid suck him off all week instead like Sid wanted him to. 

“See you at plane,” Geno said, and leaned down to kiss the wrinkle of Sid’s stern expression and smiled big and showy and tossed his apple into the wastebasket and left Sid in the dust on his way out the door. Sid looked at his watch and scratched the back of his neck for a long moment and sighed. 

This was about to be a long week.

[ - - - ]

When Sid got to the plane, with barely five minutes to spare, Geno’s car was already parked in the lot and Simon was sitting in Sid’s designated seat, Reeser tucked up beside him in the space left empty for Flower, the both of them looking at something on Simon’s tablet.

Sid thought about maybe just backing out of the deal and making them move. Why did Geno even want him to join cards anyway? It was stupid, and there wasn’t even an open seat. Was he seriously going to kick someone out just to, what—embarrass Sid at poker for a whole three flights? Well, regardless, Sid wasn’t ever going to hear the end of it. He wouldn’t back down. 

“Sid!” Geno called, as Sid got within eyesight of him in the aisle, like there was any chance that Sid had forgotten. He was already fully stripped of his coat and situated: sleeves rolled up past his elbows, hand stuffed full of unshuffled cards, a sharpie tucked awkwardly behind his ear. 

The window seat normally occupied by Brass was suspiciously empty. Sid tossed his duffel in the overhead bin, stuffed his eye mask in his jacket pocket and gestured for Geno to let him slide in. 

“You really kicked him out for this?” Sid whispered, watching Brass slide in next to Shea a few rows up. 

“It’s fine, he don’t mind,” Geno said, shuffling the deck deftly in one hand and reaching under the table to pat Sid’s knee. “He only play because Tanger makes him. Break is nice.” 

Geno left his hand there, warm and open over Sid’s leg, as the rest of the team filed on and Phil and Tanger took their seats across the table. Neither of them looked particularly surprised to see him there, which made Sid even more suspicious. He shrugged gracelessly out of his jacket and stripped off his sweater as the plane took off, his whole body a little overheated, jittery with anticipation. There was no way he’d be able to sleep like this, even though the long cross-country flight normally saw his eyes drooping shut within the first half-hour. 

All of his anticipation seemed to be for naught, because by the time they landed, nothing of note had really happened, save for Sid losing every single hand of cards and racking up literally no points and Geno essentially trying to rub a hole in the seam of Sid’s dress pants with the way his hand was worrying at it. Halfway through their second game, Geno’s hand had slunk toward the inside of his thigh and the heat in Sid’s body had climbed all the way up to his face. He had spread his thighs open a little in hopes that Geno might do literally anything else, but he hadn’t. Sid felt flushed, thinking about being just a little disappointed. 

They lost to the Ducks in overtime off of Perry’s stick, and then drove overnight to LA for a resounding win barely twenty-four hours later, punctuated by Geno’s three points. Sid was happy to see him working his way out of his slump, and they didn’t usually sleep together on the road, but Sid was really hankering for it, keyed up from Geno’s nonsense on the plane and from watching him undress in the locker room after the win, chest blotchy with heat, a gruesome bite mark Sid had given him still fading from his hip. 

“You wanna come back to mine?” Sid asked, sidling up to him at the sinks. He had his own towel tied as low as humanly possible, and he watched Geno’s eyes slide predictably down and back up. 

“Phil asks if I’m go out,” Geno said, muffled by the toothpaste foaming out of his mouth. “Maybe after, I text you.” He spit into the sink and leaned in to rinse his mouth directly from the faucet like an animal. Sid took the opportunity to crane his gaze back to the thick curve of Geno’s ass in his going-out pants. He wanted very badly to put his foot down and drag Geno upstairs regardless of his plans, but he hadn’t won anything, and things would be on Geno’s terms until they made another bet. He would have to wait.

[ - - - ]

Geno didn’t text him that night and was noticeably hungover on the bus to the practice rink the next morning, clutching his coffee cup like a lifeline, wearing a toque pulled low even in the balmy twenty degree weather.

“Late night last night?” Sid asked him, prodding Geno’s side as they walked from the locker room to the ice, and then lowered his voice. “Can’t believe you just left me to jerk off alone, eh.” 

“Pearson helps me order drinks and it’s too strong,” he said, doing some weird uncomfortable thing with his face, scrunching it up like he still had a headache or the room was spinning. “Never again.” 

“Well I missed you,” Sid said, because he had, and had thought about Geno the whole time, closing his eyes and thinking back on the last time they’d fucked, rough and quick in the den at his house, Geno’s pants barely pulled down at all. “Maybe next time you’ll come upstairs when I ask, eh? We’re old men now, no one bats an eye if we stay in.” 

He winked lazily at Geno and walked on ahead, stuffing his extra sticks in the rack and waving hello to Dana and Trinca at the edge of the tunnel. When he slid in to the bench after a few quick warm up laps, Geno was waiting on the end with just enough space left for Sid to fill. 

“I make up to you,” Geno said, leaning in close with his glove trapping Sid’s arm, smiling that stupid smile that Sid loved, his eyes crinkled up under the shield of his visor. “You see.”

[ - - - ]

The flight to San Jose was short, barely an hour and a half, and the seat next to Geno was open again, the rookies planted firmly in Sid’s usual row. Sid settled in at the table and wondered what Geno was really getting out of this. It wasn’t as if beating Sid at something was some novelty—both of them had spent ample time at the top. After Geno had stood him up the night before, Sid’s subconscious really wanted to start fretting that Geno was getting tired of him, that he didn’t decide on some juicy sex prize just because he wasn’t that interested in having sex with Sid at all, which was silly. They’d been fucking for long enough that it was stupid to fret. Whatever Geno was getting out of Sid’s plane company, Sid would just have to let him.

The time spent in the air was just enough time for one single hand, with the way that Geno and Phil’s bickering always drew things out. Sid half expected to just mail it in uneventfully, but not even five minutes after they lifted off the tarmac, Geno’s hand was back on his leg, hot through the thin summer twill of Sid’s pants. 

Over the course of the next half hour, Geno’s hand snuck closer and closer to his inseam, fingers gripping the meaty part of his inner thigh. His pinky finger kept grazing temptingly close to Sid’s junk, made even closer by how he was plumping up from the attentions, everything pressing against the confines of the perfectly tailored fabric. 

“Sid? You gonna play anything?” Tanger asked, after Sid spaced out and waited an embarrassingly long time to take his turn. Sid felt his cheeks flame, and he laughed to cover up any hint of misbehavior that they might catch on to. What Geno was doing wasn’t innocent, but it wasn’t as if it was terribly sinful; Sid was just _so_ keyed up, practically vibrating with how much he wanted Geno to touch him, to move his hand literally anywhere at all. 

“Sorry,” Sid said, and scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly and looked down at his hand, which he had entirely forgotten about. It was possible that he wasn’t even sure what game they were playing at this point. Poker? 21? Who the fuck knew; his attempt would be garbage regardless. He had always been awful at cards, and no amount of Geno playing poker or hearts or anything else with him on his phone had ever improved his luck. 

“Play this,” Geno said, reaching over to pluck a few cards from his hand and plunking them down in the center of the table, which only served to start a shouting match between everyone.

“Oh, so you’re his handicap now?” Phil asked, reaching over to jab Geno in the face with an unopened pack of cards. “What the _fuck_ , man—“

“Definitely taking at _least_ twenty points away from you for that,” Tanger said. “And don’t even think about fining me for the rest of the week—actually, make that the rest of the month.” 

“Hey—hey!” Geno said, shouting louder and louder, half in English and half in Russian until Sully turned around and raised his eyebrows at them in disapproval. Sid elbowed Geno mercilessly until he noticed Sully’s gaze and returned his voice to a more human volume. 

Somewhere in the middle of the ruckus, Phil had basically trashed the game without Sid noticing, and it seemed that they weren’t going to start another, all three of them burrowing back into their seats, Tanger putting his noise-cancelling headphones showily over his ears. 

After a minute or two, Phil got up to use the restroom and patted Geno on the shoulder. “You’re a sucker, big guy,” he said, and flickered his gaze between Sid and Geno and wandered off to the back of the plane. 

“Sorry I uh—“ Sid said, when Phil was gone. “I was a little distracted.” He flicked his gaze down to where Geno’s hand was still open over his lap, the shape of it obvious under the sweater balled up there. 

“I win cards every time,” Geno said. “It’s fine.” And he followed Sid’s gaze, and shifted his hand around a little until it was _really_ settled over him, firmly cupped around the thickened shape of Sid’s dick. Sid felt like he was going to just crumble into dust and evaporate out the window, maybe, right into the stratosphere. He had been so horny for what felt like weeks, since they started this stupid bet, and now Geno’s plan seemed to be dropping slowly into place. He wanted Sid to—to get off on the plane, or at least he wanted to rile him up, right here where everyone could _see_. 

“Geno—“ Sid said, whispered and choked off, looking out the window at the puffy cotton clouds so as not to arouse suspicion. 

“Shh, I don’t do anything—“ Geno said, close enough to Sid’s face that Sid could feel his breath warm, still smelling like the three cups of coffee he’d downed while they waited for the plane, and didn’t remove his hand at all because he was a fucking liar who was definitely doing something. Sid wasn’t fooled. “Plane is land soon.”

Phil would be back from the restroom before too long, and Tanger was sitting right across from them, literally touching Sid’s knees with his own. Sid had to hold his breath tight when Geno rubbed lazily over the line of his zip—both too much and not even close to enough—and hope he wouldn’t let out an embarrassing moan.

[ - - - ]

Sid was exhausted after the game against the Sharks, sore all across his back from a particularly vicious crosscheck, posted up in the far corner of the showers with the water turned up just hot enough to make him pink all over, eyes closed facing the spray. The guys milled in and out, Cully smacked his ass with a washcloth on his way out and reminded him not to burn.

Eventually, long past when he assumed he was alone, he turned off the tap and rolled his shoulders around, groaning noisily, his shower slides smacking against the wet tile as he made his way back to the change room and rounded the corner and promptly smacked right into Geno, who was fully dressed and pecking away at his phone, leaning against the nearest locker to the door. 

“Fuck—“ Sid said, as Geno caught his waist with a hand. Sid had gotten water all over the front of Geno’s shirt, and it was light enough that there was a long, damp splotch. “You keep scaring me, you’re too quiet.” 

“Head up, Crosby,” Geno said, laughing and pocketing his phone, patting Sid’s side where his hand lay and releasing him from the hold. He rolled himself down into the vacated stall as Sid toweled off and deodorized and changed into his street clothes. Sid couldn’t see him, but he was sure of Geno’s eyes on him, as predictable as any routine over the years. 

“Come to make a scene of me in here too?” Sid asked, as he hiked his jeans up over his ass, hopping a little to get them the final few inches. “Don’t think that was part of the agreement.” Not that he would be particularly _opposed_ , but there was no way he would let Geno know that, lest he get greedy enough to take full advantage. Sid deserved to keep some secrets in their eternal volley for the upper hand. 

“You like?” Geno asked, and when Sid turned around he was sitting there like a fucking King, self satisfied and smiling, leaning back against the wall with his mile-long legs spread out in front of him. He had his dress clothes on and his vest unbuttoned. Sid loved his stupid three piece suits. He wanted to slide his hands inside and hold Geno’s sides hard enough to bruise. 

“You’re sure taking full advantage of your winnings on this bet,” Sid said, instead of answering. There weren’t really any hard and fast rules about what you could win or when or how, as long as everyone was on board. Stretching his prize out for a whole fucking week was probably pushing it, but Sid was shamefully enjoying it now, both the increased company and the—uh—benefits. 

“Think maybe it’s good, you know—you like have buddy on plane, but since Flower is go to Vegas, you sit alone,” Geno said, and stood from his seat as Sid finished packing up and pulling on his shoes. “Maybe I make it good for you, you know—get you off, you know that sitting with me is best.” 

He bumped Sid on the hip and Sid smiled up at him as they walked from the room to the loading area, stunned and charmed a little by Geno’s innocent motivations, and amused that Geno assumed that the way to Sid’s heart was through his dick, which—was possibly not entirely untrue. 

“I’m never gonna get better at cards,” Sid said, as they opened the door into the chilly Northern California night. “You’ll be stuck with me; I’m gonna make Phil lose his shit.” 

“Phil is lose shit every game,” Geno said. They’d been left behind by the bus, and as they wound their way through the back streets to the hotel, they drifted closer and closer until their arms were brushing with every step. It was late, and barely anyone was out. Sid took a long deep breath. “Maybe I come to sit with you, sometimes, if you leave seat open for me.” 

“That would be nice,” Sid said, and smiled down at the cracked concrete sidewalk and stuffed his hands into his jacket pocket to stop himself from grabbing Geno’s palm.

[ - - - ]

The flight to Phoenix was short again, and Phil just straight up refused to start a single game with them, still hilariously huffed up from the previous flight’s antics.

“I don’t play games with cheaters, Ev _geni_ ,” he said, and tugged his toque down over his eyes and kicked Geno under the table and went promptly to sleep. Tanger just laughed from over the brim of his tablet. He was, Sid had realized, mostly involved in this card game for the continued sitcom-level amusement. 

Geno goaded Sid into a single game of Go Fish, which was the only game that Sid actually still really knew how to play, and when they were done Geno pocketed the cards in his backpack and tucked his arm around Sid’s back and drifted to sleep. Sid was only a little sore that the antics from the previous flight hadn’t continued, now that everyone seemed to want to leave them alone. He knew now that Geno’s motivations had really been about, well, way more than just sneakily jerking Sid off on the plane for fun, but Sid had gotten _into_ it, and he was secretly looking forward to seeing how much they could get away with. 

Sid woke up from his own short nap when the plane touched down, and Geno was drooling steadily onto the collar of his shirt. His hand had wound its way up under the hem, rubbing reflexively over Sid’s sleep-warm skin. 

“We’re here,” Sid said, untangling himself and shaking Geno a little to rouse him. He had a crick in his neck from Geno’s heavy weight and would probably have to give it some concentrated attention with a lacrosse ball once they got to the hotel. 

“Mmm, maybe sleep more,” Geno muttered, but he rubbed at his eyes and seemed to try to wake himself up, though it took him so long that everyone else had disembarked before Sid could escape from his seat. 

“You could come up with me,” Sid suggested, as they walked down the empty aisle to the exit. “I’ll probably lay down again after my shower.” 

“Yeah?” Geno asked, and he grabbed Sid’s arm to still him, and turned him around right there in the aisle and bent to kiss Sid’s dry mouth with his breath stale from sleep. 

“Yeah,” Sid said, and smiled as they pulled away, and felt warm all up and down his body from more than just the Arizona heat wafting in the open plane door. “For sure.” 

In Sid’s hotel room, he threw his duffel on the desk and pushed Geno back onto the crisply made bed and sucked him off long and slow until Geno was clutching at Sid’s hair with weak, fluttering hands and Sid was swallowing his release down. Afterwards, Sid crawled up and rubbed off on Geno’s hip and passed out on his chest and slept like the fucking dead, a good three hours of uninterrupted nap time, uncaring that he was sweaty and clammy all over from the orgasm and Geno’s ample body heat and the recycled hotel air. 

The high of orgasm and rest powered them through the Coyotes, who never put up much of a fight, and through the brief overnight flight to Vegas and through the hard battle of a game against the Knights, in which they lost just barely and Sid didn’t score a single goal on Flower _still_ after all of his attempts. 

Sid was refreshed the next morning to wake up and realize that they were on break, with a full week between now and their next game. All that awaited him today was breakfast with Flower and Vero and a long, cross country flight back home, during which he was determined to make Geno pay up on his promise to get Sid off before they went their separate ways. 

He was antsy all through his french toast and fried eggs, laughing deep belly laughs at stupid things that Flower was saying and thinking about all the ways he could hide Geno’s hands under the pile of his winter outerwear on the plane. Geno was already in his seat on the team bus when Sid boarded, and Sid texted him covertly from his own seat as they pulled out of the lot and onto the highway. 

**Looking forward to having a seat buddy today** he typed, and then added a winking face and the stupid eggplant emoji that Geno liked so much, just to make sure that his message would be received loud and clear. 

He craned his neck back to watch Geno check his phone and smile at the message, and then frowned when Geno pocketed the phone again without a reply. Well, maybe it didn’t need a reply. He knew what Sid was asking for. 

When Brass was back in his designated seat on the plane and Sid’s row was fully empty, Sid’s frown grew deeper, confused that the whole thing was just over so fast, without Geno following through with his supposed reward or his promise to make it up to Sid for the continued teasing. 

Well, maybe their conversation the other day had been the end of it. What Geno had really desired was just giving Sid some company, and they had decided on how that might happen going forward, and all was well. Touching Sid on the plane was just a clever ploy, and he had never really planned to pony up. Typical.

But after Sid was settled in to his regular seat, pillow tucked behind his head and his feet stretched all the way out, Geno came barreling down the aisle yapping back at someone, Phil or Brass or maybe both of them, and swung himself into the open window seat, uncaring that he was sitting right on Sid’s phone. 

“Um, hey, you’re—“ Sid said, and wedged a hand down under Geno’s ass to wrestle his phone free. “You’re sitting on my—“ 

“Oh—“ Geno said, and raised his hips enough for Sid to grab the device and tuck it into his own pocket. “Sorry, Sid—hi.” 

“I didn’t realize you, uh—“ Sid said, and tucked his hands under the scratchy airline blanket and pulled his feet in. “You didn’t answer my text, so I figured you were back to your regularly scheduled programming today. You don’t have to sit with me if you don’t want, I can sleep.” 

“I want,” Geno said, and smiled at Sid just a little wickedly, and Sid thought that maybe there was a chance that Geno would give him what he wanted after all hidden in that smile. Geno didn’t look away from him as he situated himself and tugged the blanket over to cover his own lap and by the time the plane hit air, both of them were snug under the blanket, the pillow tucked between their two heads. 

“You ever do with Flower?” Geno asked, after a while of staring at the disappearing city out the window. 

“What?” Sid asked, because was Geno seriously asking if he? Of course he didn’t. “No.” 

Geno just laughed, snickering to himself like he thought he was incredibly funny, and knocked his head to Sid’s own. “You so dirty,” he said, “Not do like—I just mean blanket, you know, like cuddle, sleep.” 

“You think you’re so funny,” Sid said, but he really did think Geno was pretty funny, or at least he never failed to make Sid laugh. Geno stared out the window for a little longer, as the plane noise quieted down to a dull whisper, and the clouds got bigger and more blinding. Sid held his breath in anticipation until he felt stupid about it, and prepared himself for a nap good enough for the righteous. 

He was just pulling his toque down over his eyes when he felt Geno’s hand creeping over the armrest to settle high on his thigh, boldly placed in the warm, sensitive crease of his hip. Sid sucked in a breath, and pressed the bulk of his toque back up his forehead and tried to look like nothing at all was out of the ordinary. When he looked over at Geno, he wasn’t even looking Sid’s way at all, just scrolling instagram with his other hand, smiling that stupid smile like he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. 

“Geno,” Sid whispered, and Geno didn’t reply, but he did move his hand to cover Sid’s interested dick and he toyed with the zipper flap on his pants for long enough that Sid wanted to scream. He really needed to get his own phone out and look like he was engaged in something, literally anything other than just looking around at their passed out teammates and trying not to think about how much he wanted Geno to touch his actual bare dick or what he would do if someone saw.

“Yeah?” Geno whispered, looking his way finally, after all this time. He was gripping the zipper pull on Sid’s pants, his pinky finger tucked into the waistband. Sid nodded, and scrambled a little to pull out his phone and put in his headphones and act busy. He thought about putting on a podcast, but he didn’t really want to devote a single brain cell to figuring out which one. Geno’s hand undid his zipper and button, and slid under the snug waistband of Sid’s underwear while Sid struggled to take a real, coherent breath, a little afraid that he would make some telling noise. 

There wasn’t a lot of room in Sid’s jeans, with his dick basically fully hard now, and Geno’s huge fucking hand, but the denim stretched a little, thank god, just enough that Geno could grip him and slide his dick up to face his navel, the head peeking out over the top of his waistband. Geno rubbed him like that, over the soft cotton of his underwear, cupping his hand over the bared head at the top, slow and careful so no one would see the movement or hear rustling, and Sid felt like he might be going out of his mind. The longer it went on, the more he forgot that maybe someone would look, too wrapped up in how good it felt, and the sticky warm sensation of precome leaking onto his belly, and everything fucking else—how much he had missed Geno and how long he had _waited_ for this. 

“Fuck—“ Sid said, tucking his face to the side a little, pressed into the pillow between their heads to muffle it. “Geno, fuck—“ He wanted to fucking _scream_ he was so pent up. He wasn’t even loud, usually, certainly not as loud as Geno, but he wanted so badly to be loud now, his lizard brain egged on by the endorphins and the fear and the fact that he literally couldn’t at all. 

When he chanced a glance around the plane again, everyone was curled up asleep, even the card game was quiet, everyone exhausted after the long road trip. Only Rusty was awake, chatting softly on the phone, something Sid couldn’t understand that sounded a little like baby talk, probably directed at his dog. 

Sid took the opportunity to shift around a little, secure in the knowledge that no one would really see, wriggling his hips just above the seat until he could tuck the waistband of his jeans and underwear a few inches lower on his hips, enough that Geno could pull the whole length of his dick out. His cheeks were hot, just thinking about how shameless he was being, but Geno didn’t move his hand, just gripped him harder, and when Sid looked over at him Geno was staring back with dark eyes, a sly smile on his face. 

“I don’t have any, uh—“ Sid said, “I’m not sure we should use the blanket to clean up, when I uh—“ 

“Don’t have to,” Geno whispered, tucking his face in close, as close as he could get, right in the warm, sweaty curve of Sid’s neck. “I handle it, just—“

Sid settled in fully, then, spreading his legs as wide as they could go in the confines of his seat, letting Geno jack him slowly and torturously, thinking about how much he _liked_ it, and how terribly, immensely fond he was of Geno, feeling Geno’s warm breaths washing over his neck. He hoped that Geno wasn’t kidding, when he’d promised to come sit with him sometimes. Maybe it was nice to have someone, and even nicer that it was Geno: Sid’s favorite person—maybe he could actually admit—after all these years. 

When he got close, he closed his eyes tight and pulled his lips together, thrusting so slowly into Geno’s fist that it felt like maybe he wasn’t moving at all. At the end of it, even his biceps and the balls of his feet felt tense, and Geno cupped his hand again around the head of Sid’s dick and Sid shot off into his palm and was the quietest that he’d literally ever been, every indulgent sound he wanted to make escaping from his body as loose air. 

“Jesus—“ he whispered to his lap, and Geno’s hand was raised to his mouth when Sid looked over at him, licking the drops of Sid’s release from between his fingers. He was lucky that there was a wall in front of them, and that basically everyone was too conked out to see—shameless and filthy, smiling that big, goofy smile around a tongue covered in come. He was absolutely the worst and best person Sid knew. 

“I can’t believe you—,“ Sid whispered, as Geno popped a pinky finger into his mouth and just grinned in return. “You gonna help with the rest of it?” Under the cover of the blanket, Sid’s ass was still half out of his pants. It would take a lot more wiggling to get himself sorted, perhaps more than he was in the mood for now, with his body already halfway sunk into sleep.

“Mmm, later,” Geno said, and burrowed both arms back under the blanket, and curled in close on their shared pillow. “It’s long flight.” 

“True—“ Sid said, because there was no arguing that he was bone-dead tired. And he closed his own eyes and tucked his toque down over them a little further and burrowed in, breathing deep, calming sleep breaths of Geno’s sweat and leftover shampoo. The damage had already been done, and they could handle it when they awoke. Pittsburgh was a long while away. “We’ve got time.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](https://sainthockey.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
